


till death do part us

by thegoodlannister



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: And Thor is just along for the ride, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki is a goddamned mess, M/M, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Protective Thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 20:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6165058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodlannister/pseuds/thegoodlannister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>history has taught loki that there is only one way to ensure thor's attention is focused solely on him.  unfortunately, it happens to be very painful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	till death do part us

**Author's Note:**

> someone once described this fic as "the one where loki has munchausen syndrome" and I couldn't even say it wasn't accurate.

Thor has had Loki’s blood on his hands more times than he can count - more times than he ever thought he could bear - his first memory of it when they were only children. Loki had fallen from a tree after Thor dared him to climb it, landing with a _crunch_ Thor had never heard before. The sound had echoed in the empty space between the trees, and Thor had been horrified to learn his brother could make such a noise - that is, until the screaming started. Loki’s voice had been something between a sob and a scream and while his brother had always been prone to tears during his fits of temper, he’d never sounded anything like _that_.

Thor had been at Loki’s side in an instant, Loki pale and shaking so hard Thor thought he made break apart. “Loki,” he’d said, “Loki!” trying to get his brother’s attention, but Loki’s eyes had seemed unable to focus, alternately scrunched in pain and opened almost impossibly wide in shock. It had taken Thor’s hand on the side of his face to get Loki to look at him, and there had been _so much blood_ that Thor didn’t know where it was coming from (later he would learn that a bone in his brother’s wrist had snapped when he hit the ground, puncturing the skin). It was only at Thor’s touch that Loki had calmed, tears leaking out of tightly closed eyes while Thor wiped them away with a clumsy thumb, murmuring terrified apologies because it was his fault. _All his fault, if he’d never asked Loki to climb that thrice-cursed tree…_

He’d carried Loki all the way back to the palace, cradled against his chest though he and Loki had been of a height at the time and his brother’s legs had almost brushed the ground. Loki had vomited on him twice during the journey, before finally falling unconscious and soaking Thor’s tunic in drool - which Loki later claimed had been his payback for initiating the dare in the first place.

Still, plagued by guilt and the newfound knowledge that Loki was _breakable_ , Thor had spent the next week waiting on his brother hand and foot, bringing him sweets (which Loki would eat, even when his stomach was too upset for anything else) and reading his favorite stories and brushing out his hair until it shone, even after their mother had assured Thor that Loki was well enough to do such things on his own.

Thor’s friends had teased him relentlessly about his sudden lack of interest in training and adventuring and well… most everything that couldn’t be done at Loki’s bedside, while Loki, for his part, had soaked up the attention like a particularly greedy little sponge. But with the way Loki’s face lit up each time Thor declined the company of the Warriors Three for his own, Thor could hardly mind the teasing.

For almost a month after, Thor could be more often seen quietly studying in the library with his brother than besting opponents in the training yards. (And he could have sworn he caught Loki smirking as if he’d just claimed some secret victory every time he turned his way.)

In the coming months and years, Loki’s accidents had grown more and more frequent; every other week, it seemed, Loki was in the healing rooms being treated for some injury or another - and always it was only Thor who could calm him. It had worried Thor, that his brother was so easily wounded - but Loki was so different, so slight and lean, his bones as fine as a bird’s when Thor circled his wrist with two fingers, that Loki’s frailty only made sense.

(Once, after Loki had taken a tumble that left him with a black eye and scrapes all along the right side of his face, Volstagg had guffawed and suggested that the younger prince needed to find a less painful way to garner Thor’s attention. Thor hadn’t understood - Loki always _had_ his attention, certainly Volstagg could see that - but his friend had spent the remainder of the week bald-headed forf his offense anyway. The subject was never mentioned again.)

—

A thousand years and as many close-calls later, Loki had fallen again, this time from the Bifrost. It was not unlike the incident with the tree - for Loki would never have been endangered if not for Thor’s stupidity, Thor was sure of that. His part in it had been something Thor couldn’t understand, but the feeling of guilt over Loki’s well-being was intimately familiar. (And who except Thor had ever held enough sway over his brother that they could throw him to his death without ever touching him?)

There was no blood this time, and the only screaming had been Thor’s as he felt the bird bones of Loki’s wrist shift in his grasp. Thor had always thought the Abyss silent, but here, suspended over unfathomable openness, the rush of space had been _defeaning_ over the dawning realization that he could not hold on if Loki did not want him to.

This time, Thor had not been there to meet Loki upon his landing. If his brother had been left broken and bleeding and calling out Thor’s name in his delirium and pain, Thor would never know.

—

As with the tree, this fall had not killed him - though Thor could see the scars it had left as easily as that on the inside of his wrist, where bone had once peeked through skin. And how cruel was it that his brother had been lost, thought _dead_ , only to be returned to him a mad, spitting thing? Something dangerous, the love Thor had always known in him turned over and through itself until it became a sentiment so twisted and bitter Thor no longer tried to recognize it.

How cruel that even his Midgardian friends who claimed to love Thor so well saw not his Loki, but a monster who wore his brother’s face. How cruel that there had been no one to mourn the loss of the man and friend and brother Thor had known. How cruel that Thor should have to hurt his brother to save him when his hands had only ever felt right cradling Loki’s face.

How cruel that Thor had never known how to protect Loki at all.

But Thor had not truly known cruelty - could not have known it - until Loki’s body went cold in his arms in Svartalfheim. It had been the first time Thor had held him since before Loki’s fall from the Bifrost, Loki’s apologies perhaps the biggest cruelty of all, for there was nothing Thor would not absolve him of if only it meant Loki’s safety.

“I’m sorry,” Loki had said, pale and shaking so hard Thor thought he might break apart, and there was _so much blood_ Thor didn’t know where it was coming from. Only that it came from Loki. _Loki_ , and that was all that had ever mattered. If only there has been time, Thor would have told him - would have made Loki see - it was _he_ who was sorry, for the tree, for the Bifrost, for a thousand other sufferings, both small and great, he’d been unable to take in Loki’s stead.

But there on his knees, trying to hold his brother’s middle together with blood-slicked hands, time had not been Thor’s friend.

—

Thor had thought Loki dead for the better part of two years.

Two years was not near enough time to mourn.

—

Thor has had Loki’s blood on his hands more times than he can count; that is too many times. This is what he thinks when the Man of Iron knocks on the door to the room given him in Stark Tower and says “It’s your brother.” Stark lets the word ‘again’ hang unspoken. Loki has been more trouble than usual as of late - allying himself with dangerous foes for reasons Thor does not understand. He is reckless, one moment at the Doctor of Doom’s side, and the next turning on him in a rage. Although it has worked to the Avengers’ favor more than once, this dance rarely goes well for Loki, and Thor does not see what Loki is playing at.

Already this month Thor has seen his brother beaten to a bloody mess three times. It is exhausting, for as much as Thor knows Loki has made his own choices - for as much as his teammates beg him not to involve himself in his brother’s quarrels - Thor cannot sit idly by while Loki’s allows his face to be bloodied beyond recognition. His brother may usually be able to heal himself, but if the damage is too great… The stress of having Loki here on Midgard is almost enough to make Thor wish he’d left Loki on the throne, playing at being their father, but Loki had done a poor enough job of it that Thor could hardly have allowed _that_.

Thor sighs as he attaches Mjolnir to his belt and follows Stark from the room. Where else could his gaze be when Loki may well be putting himself in harm’s way at any moment? Certainly his friends cannot be begrudge him that. (Though Thor suspects they do.)

When he arrives downtown with Rogers and Stark - Rogers says they’ll radio the others if more help is needed - Loki is perched atop of what Thor has learned to recognize as an emergency vehicle. It has clearly been disabled - turned over onto its roof - and is surrounded by ten of this realm’s 'policemen.’ Loki looks amused, though a quick glance tells Thor no one appears to yet be injured, so he is unsure what has caused his brother’s mirth

“Loki!” he shouts, though he doesn’t expect his words to be of any great help. “What is your purpose here? Put this vehicle to rights and -”

A blast of magic cuts off anything else Thor wishes to say and sends the policemen running for cover behind their remaining vehicles. “Enough, Thor!” Loki all but screeches, his voice hoarse, as if he has been screaming even before Thor’s arrival. “That you would ask my purpose indicates only that you do not know me at all. You - you out of all of them - should know that I _have_ no purpose, save my own amusement. If I have caused upset for this city’s defenders, it is only because I enjoy their fear and confusion! Do not give my motives deeper meaning than they deserve.”

The rant has left Loki panting, and there is blood running from a cut above his eye - he has been struck. All Thor can think is that, surrounded by mortals as he is, his brother must have allowed it. But why? That Loki would allow a mortal to strike him… it is unthinkable.

“Yeah, we’re not overly concerned with your motives,” Stark interrupts. “But we’d really like it if you could stop destroying government property. Not that I’m particularly patriotic, but that’s my tax dollars at work over there, you know.” He gestures to the overturned emergency vehicle Loki is currently using as a throne.

Stark’s sarcasm often comes before violence, and his words set Thor on edge. He does not wish to fight Loki again so soon. “Loki, please, you must barely be healed -” he begins. (It is true. Certainly he and Loki heal more quickly than these Midgardians, but Loki had barely been able to drag himself off the street last Thor had seen him.)

But apparently these were not the right words - they so rarely are with his brother - because Loki snarls and raises his arms as if in preparation for some defensive magic Thor does not know.

Rogers’ shield is there before Thor realizes he has thrown it, clipping Loki’s shoulder and sending him skidding across the pavement, the sound of his brother’s skin meeting concrete very loud. Loki could have avoided the collision, Thor is sure of it. His brother never misses even the smallest movement during battle, and there is nothing that could have distracted him.

“Stand down, Loki,” Rogers commands, though Loki is already sprawled at their feet, and Loki laughs, a hollow thing, as he pushes himself up to his knees. His arms are trembling.

“Would not it be easier, Captain” he asks, “to end me now? How many years will we play at this game, how many better men than I will die, before you do what you know has to be done?” Loki’s cape is torn where it has been abraded by the pavement - he could hide that, if he wanted to, with the most basic of illusions - and his voice sounds, to Thor, like pleading.

“You know we don’t kill, Loki - not unless we have to,” Rogers near-whispers. Thor recognizes that it is not a threat, only the truth.

Loki locks his eyes with Thor’s. “Then you have not yet learned to recognize when it is required.” Then he is kicking out to knock Rogers, caught off-guard, to the ground beside him, where they grapple for a few moments before Rogers knocks his head back against the pavement and presses down on his windpipe, hard enough that Thor can hear his brother struggling for breath. The Captain is a good man, but he will not hold back his strength when the occasion calls for it. Thor does not need to intervene.

“You could at least do me some real damage,” Loki hisses out between clenched teeth once Rogers has pulled back enough to allow him to catch his breath. “Injure me, _damn you_. Leave more than a damned bruise!”

The words are strange to Thor - it discomforts him, to hear them from his brother’s lips. Rogers, for his part, looks just as startled, and pulls his hands from Loki’s throat, staring at the appendages as if he doesn’t recognize them, while Stark mutters something about that being “some kinky shit.” Thor does not understand and does not wish to understand - he knows only that there is something very wrong with his brother. “Loki, see sense,” he implores, imagining how his touch might soothe the marks on his brother’s throat where Rogers’ hands have been. “You cannot truly want us to hurt you. Speak plainly of what you need, and I will see that you have it.”

Loki shuts his eyes, his chin tucking to his chest. “No, Thor,” he says, then disappears.

—

Thor doesn’t see Loki for a few weeks after that, though he hears rumors of his brother’s actions - each more worrying than the last. SHIELD seems to think Loki has been injured enough that it keeps him from troubling their organization, that he is squirreled away somewhere licking his wounds, and Thor likes the sound of that not one bit - though he tries to convince himself he would know if his brother truly needed him. (Maybe once that was true, but twice now Thor has failed to know Loki even _lived_.)

Eventually, the Commander Fury exchanges that worry for another when he divulges that Loki has been spotted with Doom again. When Stark tries to convince him that this at least means Loki is alive and well enough to be planning mischief, Thor grabs him by the front of his shirt and hefts him from the floor. “The last time my brother was in Doom’s presence, I found him half-dead!” Thor growls, already feeling guilty for his loss of temper.

But still he cannot think past the bloody smear Doom had left his brother the last time Loki betrayed him, so when Stark later opens a conversation with, “Listen big guy, I don’t want you to panic,” Thor immediately feels the cold flush of fear in his veins.

—

It turns out that Loki has apparently gone after Doom on his own, taking into his hands alone what was the Avengers’ problem as a whole. Thor vows he will smack Loki upside the head for the stupidity once he is assured his brother is _alive_. (He hates to think it, but Thor half-suspects that SHIELD has kept the knowledge of his brother’s true actions hidden from him until now to keep him from involving the Avengers. Perhaps, he thinks, SHIELD even _wants_ Loki dead; certainly their job would be easier if he were.)

By the time he reaches the site of the battle, Doom is dead, and Loki gone, a crew gathered to clean up the wreckage. Thor tries to take comfort from the fact that his brother is nowhere to be seen - Loki is nothing if not an escape artist, and stronger than most give him credit for.

So it is with no great surprise, but with palpable relief, that Thor finds his brother on the roof of Stark Tower upon his return. “You didn’t come,” Loki accuses, not bothering to wait for Thor to steady himself from his landing before he begins. “I destroy your greatest enemy on this world - save me, perhaps - and you… you weren’t even there.” Loki shakes his head, a bitter grin on his face. “Tell me, what kept you, brother? Were you and your new friends otherwise occupied? Certainly the Man of Iron cannot have some contraption more worthy of your attention than my _imminent demise_.”

“You are a fool if you think I would have been anywhere else, had I known!” Thor snaps, lightning crackling behind him. His patience for Loki is already bowstring tight, and they have not yet spoken this evening. Torn between anger at his brother’s casual disregard for his own life and a deep gratitude that he has a brother to be angry with at all, he sees no way this can end well. “You would run off and risk your life for naught, would leave me here to grieve for you _again_ , Loki, and somehow you think yourself fit to berate _me_ for failing to anticipate your convoluted schemes. What a hypocrite you are!”

Rain is falling now - fat, cold droplets that soak Loki’s hair until it clings to the hollows of his face. In this light, the shadows under his cheekbones look very deep indeed; a nerve in his cheek jumps, and Loki clenches his teeth, hard. “Hypocrite? Ha! That’s funny, Thor - and to think, it is _I_ who is lauded for my skill at twisting words.” Loki begins to pace, his steps jilted and uneven, as if he is afraid to be still. “Would you have been so eager to see me, I wonder, had my involvement with Doom not threatened your _precious_ city? Had it only been me, your brother, asking for an audience with the great Thor, would you lament our missed meeting at all?”

“For all I knew, Doom could have killed you!” Thor’s voice cracks like the lightning that illuminates Loki’s wild nest of hair, a victim to the sudden humidity. “He came close enough the last time!” There is a fire in his veins, and his hands ache to shake Loki until he starts making _sense_. Whether it is grief or frustration that constricts his throat he cannot say, but still he takes a step toward Loki only for Loki to take a step back. “You cannot believe it is concern for this _city_ that bid me find you here on this tower. Despite what your actions might suggest, you are smarter than that.”

Loki scoffs. “Are you suggesting that I take your sudden well of concern as some great affirmation of your love for me?”

(Thor wants to shout _yes_ \- wants to ask what manner of proof would be _enough_ , what more could Loki need for him to believe that there is not a thing in the whole of these Nine Realms that Thor would not tear down to see his brother whole and home. But he holds his tongue, and Loki continues, long fingers wringing the water from his hair.)

“Should I be satisfied that you have _never once_ looked toward me with any great interest unless you were convinced it would be your last chance to do so? The scraps of your affection when you imagine you should never have to offer them again - should those please me?”

“No, of course not!” Thor does not realize he has taken hold of Loki by the neck and clamped a hand over his mouth until he feels the short, ragged bursts of Loki’s cool breath against his palm. He has promised himself he will no longer manhandle Loki unless his brother leaves him no choice, but Thor cannot bear to hear any more of Loki’s blasphemy.

Something twists in Thor to hear Loki speak of himself that way - his brother should settle for no one’s scraps, least of all his own. Thor would see him pampered and petted and _adored_ , bathed reverently in the mornings, then dressed in only the finest jewelries and fabrics, loved by everyone as Thor loves him, if only Loki would allow it. “I… I do not understand, Loki,” he says, and truly he does not, cannot fathom how Loki has ever thought differently.

When Thor loosens the hand over Loki’s mouth, Loki jerks his head away roughly, though he doesn’t move out of Thor’s grip, electricity that has nothing to do with the storm crackling between them. “I am not the child I once was,” he says, “eager to throw myself in harm’s way time and time again in the hope you might remember my presence. Only have I ever been precious to you when you thought me endangered, thought me dying - when your guilt was enough that you could no longer ignore it.”

“I was always your second choice, Thor, and perhaps in my youth, a tumble from a tree here and there was an acceptable price to pay to be your first, if only for a while. But no longer will such a scrape suffice.” Loki winces, and Thor sees for the first time that he is favoring his right side. “The stakes are so much higher now, and so many others are in your gaze.”

“You cannot mean…” Thor trails off, disbelieving. Loki has never known the ability to ask plainly for what it is he needs, but Thor can discern the pained longing in his brother’s words easily enough. “You have done all this for me? Made your body - nearly your life - an expendable thing? All for the sake of _my_ attentions?” The delicate skin of Loki’s neck is clammy and slick beneath his hand as Thor brings his fingers up to trace the side of his brother’s face.

Loki nods tersely, once - almost a flinch under Thor’s touch - but it is enough to make Thor’s chest tighten dangerously. His eyes crinkle, soften. “Loki, you must know… surely, _surely_   you must know…” Words of the heart have ever been as easy for Thor as they are difficult for Loki, but his throat aches so much he can barely speak around it. For a moment, he only slides his thumb up and down Loki’s cheekbone. It is not until there is a hitch in Loki’s breathing that Thor realizes not all of the water running down his brother’s face is rain. Loki’s eyes are tightly shut.

“My brother, my brother,” Thor repeats until Loki’s breathing evens out. Then, “shhhh…” soothing, bringing his forehead to rest against Loki’s while Loki shakes his head desperately, something part sob and part snarl caught in his throat. His fingers twist themselves into the soaked fabric of Thor’s cape and stay there.

The sounds Loki is making are almost feral, animalistic. “Hush now, Loki. Hush,” Thor commands - he can hardly stand to hear his brother grieve so - his voice gentle but firm, as he guides Loki’s head to rest against his shoulder.

For once, Loki obeys, allowing Thor to wrap his arms around him. He is shivering so violently it feels as though he might collapse, though Thor knows him to be unaffected by the cold. Wordlessly, he shifts the majority of Loki’s weight onto himself, eager to let Loki _rest_ , when there is a pained groan.

“Loki?” Thor asks, pulling back so he can look his brother up and down. “What pains you? Are you injured?” Aside from his ruined hair and startling gauntness, Loki looks as Loki always does. For so long, Thor would not have questioned it.

It is then that Thor knows.

He moves his hands to run them comfortingly up and down Loki’s arms, preparing to take the sting from his words. “No more illusions, brother,” he says, his voice low, and it is not a chastisement, but a request.

There is moment where Loki appears to flicker in and out of focus - a moment where Thor thinks _did I push too hard?_ and _no Loki, please don’t go_ \- but then the moment ends, and Loki is left before him, all illusions gone, only his brother as he really is.

Loki looks bone-tired, as weary as Thor feels, but it is not the weariness that startles him. Much of Loki’s armor is broken or gone entirely - he will see it put to rights, Thor swears to himself, will have new armor made that suits Loki in every way so he never need remember this at all - and a large gash splits Loki’s forehead, matting his hair with blood. Bruising colors one side of his face, an array of color Thor wants never to see painted on his brother again. As he takes stock of Loki’s condition, Thor notes that the way he holds himself suggests his left leg may be broken - the lines of pain around his eyes are something Thor would smooth away if he could.

Loki’s condition is not dire, but it will take some days for him to heal - and he had planned to do it alone, Thor realizes now, locked away wherever it is he hides himself, with no one to bring him water when he thirsts or extra blankets when he shivers.

“Oh Loki,” he pleads, taking his brother’s hands in his own, careful now. One of Loki’s fingers is bent at an odd angle - it appears dislocated - and Thor holds it in the cage of his hands, something precious and broken. “Tell me, tell me so that you might never do this to yourself again in my name. What is it that you need from me? What might I do to prove that while my eyes may not always be on you, my heart and mind never stray? In what way can I show you that, without exception, my thoughts have _always been_ and will _always be_ with you?”

There is a beat of silence, and then: “Marry me.” Loki says the words like a dare - but their effect is lessened by his split and swollen lip, and his voice is nasally from the tears he shed moments ago.

If Loki endeavors to frighten him away, Thor thinks, he has failed miserably, because he has never been quite so enamored with his brother. His precious, brittle brother - who lashes out with every intention to hurt, but whose own feelings Thor must handle like spun glass. Grin splitting his face, Thor takes two fingers and tips Loki’s chin up so that their eyes meet. “Then we shall be married.”

Loki looks as if he is ready to faint, so Thor puts a hand on the small of his back to steady him. And then, just so Loki cannot doubt the seriousness of his intent: “Where, when - all that that falls onto you, Loki. I care not for the fanfare. I care only that you know this, that you do not forget it: whatever else I might choose, I first chose you. If a ring will remind you of that, then a ring you shall have.”

“Thor, I… this is _madness_ ,” Loki whispers, his face growing paler by the second. His injured hand spasms in Thor’s. “I am a _fugitive_. You cannot… your Avengers, they will never allow -”

Thor cuts him off with a soft press of his lips, and Loki lets out a squeak of surprise. “Shhh now, this does not concern my friends. If I say I have chosen you, then I have chosen you, and that is that. All the rest will wait until you’ve rested and your wounds have been tended to. Look at yourself, you can barely stand.” As if to prove Thor’s point, Loki sways dangerously. “There is much healing to be done,” Thor says - and he means so much more than just the physical - as he takes more of his brother’s weight as easily as if he weighed nothing at all. “Luckily I suspect you can work on planning our wedding quite effectively from your bed.”

Loki sighs as if the heaviest of burdens has been lifted from his shoulders - he has, after all, been spared giving voice to what he needs, instead having been ordered to take it - before looking resignedly at Thor, too tired and hurt for further argument. (Though Thor anticipates it will continue once Loki is no longer struggling to string words together).

“I’ve always imagined marrying in the forest,” he admits quietly.

It is with a great laugh that Thor swings Loki up into a bridal style carry, the rain around them turning to a warm drizzle - only for Loki to fall into a dead faint when Thor jostles his leg. Next time, Thor promises himself, carrying his little brother inside, Loki will be conscious for this.

—

Loki sleeps through all of that night and most of the next morning - long enough that Thor almost starts to worry, but he knows Loki heals best when his magic is focused entirely on knitting his body back together. So Thor sits and waits for Loki to awaken, alternately petting his hair and checking the new phone Stark has given him.

It is, of course, when Thor has just started to drift off in his own chair that he hears Loki’s voice. “Thor,” he says, sounding slightly wrecked, “I am in Stark’s Tower.” Then, after looking around: “In your bed.” Thor just smiles at that, resists the urge to tell Loki that this is where he means to keep him. His brother has never taken well to being kept.

Loki is squinting as if the light hurts him, so Thor leans across him to dim the bedside lamp. “There,” he whispers, smoothing a hand over Loki’s brow to erase the frown lines there. “Is that better?” Loki nods once and licks his lips. The fact that he does not try to speak again tells Thor how dry his throat must be - that and his lack of a struggle when Thor helps him to sit up and sip at a lukewarm glass of water.

Throughout all of this, Loki keeps looking at Thor as if he cannot believe his brother is really here, playing nursemaid after all that has transpired between them, after it was Loki who put himself here. To Thor, Loki appears to be thinking far too hard for someone whose head must still ache. Loki could never just let things  _be_ , could never accept that some things really are as simple as they appear, but at least for now, this is something Thor can put an end to.

“I have something for you,” he says suddenly, grabbing for something off the bedside table and waiting for Loki’s eyes to land on his closed fist. His brother looks suspicious, which prompts Thor to grin widely. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, then waits impatiently for Loki do so - which he does only after rolling them exaggeratedly.

Once Loki is propped up against his pillows, eyes closed, Thor takes Loki’s left hand in his own - it works in his favor that it is Loki’s right hand that is injured -and caresses his palm once before slipping the ring onto his finger.

Immediately, Loki knows what it is, and his eyes fly open, wide and startled. “Thor,” he says in warning, and Thor recognizes that tone. It says _do not toy with me_ , it says _I am in no gaming mood_ , it says _make a fool of me and I will kill you_. But this is no joke and it is no game, and Loki’s only foolishness has been in his reluctance to articulate what he so needs from Thor.

“Loki,” Thor says in answer, voice low enough that there can be no questioning the reverence in the way he speaks his brother’s name.

Thor lifts Loki’s hand so that his brother might inspect the ring - it is a beautiful piece of jewelry, he knows, and Thor is proud of it. Made of the finest and rarest and most brilliant gold, it might have been forged in the fires of Muspelheim for the way it reflects even the meager light of the room. In its center is set an emerald of the truest green Thor has ever seen; it reminds him of his brother’s eyes, though he does not say so.

The ring fits Loki’s slender finger as if it was it was meant for his hand, perfectly complementing the paleness of his skin, and Loki marvels at it - for the moment, speechless. Loki’s reaction makes Thor preen, just a little. He has done well.

“But where… when did you find the time to have this made?” Loki asks, breathless, his hand trembling in Thor’s. (And of course Loki had to know Thor had it made just for him. No common ring could have so taken his brother’s breath.)

Thor stills the trembling of Loki’s hand with a kiss to his knuckle, then drops another kiss on the top of his head. “My silly brother,” he says fondly, meeting Loki’s eyes with promise in his own, “I had this made over a hundred years ago.”

—

(The evening after their wedding, when they are both well and truly drunk, Thor carries Loki from the festivities in the manner truly befitting a bride, and with all eyes on him - the one Thor has chosen to be his at his side for all these endless millennia - he positively glows. In that moment, Thor can hardly remember a time when Loki was anything other than _his_.)

—

_End._


End file.
